


A reverie endeavor

by Agf



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Season/Series 02, Sibling Bonding, Subspace, and a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agf/pseuds/Agf
Summary: "Are you sure you want this, Klaus?” Allison asks.In the background, the ghosts start up their protests again, and he flinches.No!You don’t!Stay with us, Klaus. Listen to us!“I’m sure,” he promises, drawing a shaky cross over his chest.Or: A sober Klaus asks Allison to rumour him into some peace and quiet.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Klaus Hargreeves & Luther Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 21
Kudos: 347





	A reverie endeavor

The idea isn’t a new one. Klaus’ mind has taken him down similar alleys before, sure, ever since they were kids. He can’t be blamed for that, there are entire fucking _fetishes_ set-up around each of their powers, and those internet people never had to live in such casual close-contact with his family. Frankly, it’s a miracle he’s never brought it up before. He is a _beacon of restraint._

The thing is, after their second not-pocalypse, Klaus can’t shake it from his brain. 

They’re back in the Academy, all of them, even if it’s only for a little while. By some unspoken agreement Luther gets enough food delivered once a week for them all, and someone always makes enough for six. 

It’s… nice. 

Not the food. The food is usually shit. The family thing is nice, though. Who’d have guessed they’d be playing happy families one day? Definitely not him, that’s for sure. Klaus still has to blink the sleep from his eyes every time he sees Diego in the kitchen in a bathrobe, like he’s some kind of domestic hallucination. 

It’s nice. 

And a little claustrophobic, maybe, being back here. Sure. But then Klaus is a free spirit, right? He wasn’t built for steady living, he needs the rolling streets, the buzz of the night air, the blur of strangers’ faces… 

There are just a lot of memories in the old house, that’s the thing. Most of the others are doing a good job of ploughing through and ignoring them, but they don’t have the same problem Klaus does. Namely, some of his memories stand in the corner of the rooms and _shriek._

He’s trying to stay sober. For Dave. (Don’t think about Dave.) He’s trying to fulfil some of that ‘potential’ even fucking _Dad_ said he had, if only because if something comes knocking for them again, Ben isn’t here to carry their weight. 

But jesus, it’s hard. The others are trying to be supportive, Klaus knows, but they just don’t get it. They don’t seem to understand that there isn’t some kind of switch in his brain that flips from ‘not trying’ to ‘trying’ and changes his factory settings. No, he has to do that himself every time he makes a decision. 

It’s exhausting. 

That’s _on top of_ the ghosts. Now that he’s sober, and not expending a fuck-ton of energy on keeping Ben around - (don’t think about Ben) - it turns out Klaus is really good at conjuring spirits. He can do loads at once, even! Without meaning to! They don’t fucking leave!

He just needs a break, that’s all. Just a pause. No ghosts, no ‘do the right thing, Klaus’ decision-making. 

Since he’s sworn off the pills and the booze, options are limited. Limited, but not nonexistent. 

This _crazy family,_ eh? 

So. Klaus knows that there’s a limit to what Allison can do. He knows that it’s possible to fight against the rumours - knows as well that his body _will_ , if only because not to do so would be disregarding his entire nature. He knows that what he wants from her won’t last. 

Maybe that’s why he has the courage to ask in the first place. 

“Hey, sis!” He says, leaning in her doorway. She’s still on a mission to go through her old room - there’s a pile of things that she wants to send away for Claire, a pile of things to keep, and a couple of black sacks ready for the trash. “Need company?”

Allison looks up at him with a confused smile, but she waves him in. “If it’s clothes you want, the ones I’m donating are in that bag,” she says, waving at one on the bed. Klaus drops down in the space next to it and starts pulling things out, holding the occasional piece up to his chest, waggling his eyebrows when Allison looks over at him to make her laugh. 

“Found any treasure?” he asks. “I’m never going to go through my old room. I’m pretty sure I left a mountain of twinkies under one of the loose floorboards when we were twelve. Probably poisonous enough now to start another world-ending event.”

“Death by twinkie,” Allison wrinkles her nose. “Gross.” 

Klaus unearths an old tee with a sparkly lipstick on the front and busies himself pulling it on, humming in agreement. This is a delicate operation. He needs to come at this from the right angle. Ben would have known how to ask, probably. 

When he finishes smoothing his hands over his chest and looks up, he finds Allison already watching him. “What? Not my colour?” he asks. 

“Oh, shut up. You know it looks good,” Allison rolls her eyes fondly. She doesn’t go back to her sorting, though. Klaus squirms under the intensity of her gaze. “What was it you actually came in for?” she asks. 

“I can’t just drop in to say hi?” 

“Klaus.” 

He crumbles faster than a decade-old twinkie. “I need a favour.” 

Allison raises an eyebrow, and gestures for him to continue. 

“I got to thinking, ‘hey Klaus, you need a break! How can we make that happen?’, and I ended up thinking about… you.” 

Allison’s hand twitches slightly on top of the pile of papers she’s going through. “What kind of break?” she asks. 

Klaus tries to smile reassuringly, but even he can tell it comes out looking a little manic. “The kind I usually get from a good old hit of something reliable. Bit of silence. Bit of…” He gestures rudely at the spirit hanging around in Allison’s doorway, listening in on his vulnerable moment. “Fuck off,” he hisses, before looking back at his sister. “Bit of peace. For however long you can buy me. Couple of hours.” 

“You know I don’t like to use it anymore, Klaus,” Allison says quietly, but her eyes flick between his face and the door indecisively. 

Time for the big guns. 

“Please,” Klaus says. 

Allison visibly wavers. “I’ll do it if we tell the others about it first, and they agree,” she says. “I need the accountability, and you need someone to keep an eye on you.” 

The relief is almost physical. Klaus feels it like that first breath of a new joint, the sweep of it over his head, unloosening his shoulders. “Deal,” he says quickly. “Love a bonding moment, sounds like fun.” 

****

“It sounds like BDSM,” Five says when they’ve explained everything. 

Klaus narrows his eyes at him. “And how, young man,” he asks, “would you know a thing about that?”

“Don’t push me, Klaus.”

“It’s not- I mean, there isn’t going to be sex involved,” Luther says, more like it’s a question than a statement, and sounding entirely too judgemental for someone skirting so close to his own issues, in Klaus’ opinion. 

“Correct,” he replies, all the same, because he figures that’s all he needs to say to get Luther on-side. Judging by the way his face relaxes and he nods, it works. 

“Are we sure it’s safe?” That’s Vanya, of course, twisting her hands together in her lap and looking apologetically at Allison. “What if she strips your powers away for good?”

“Impossible,” Diego shrugs, before Klaus even gets a chance to open his mouth. “If it worked like that, Dad would have had Allison do it to you a long time ago.” 

They all sit with that idea for an awkward, silent moment. 

Klaus claps his hands. “Is this meeting adjourned?”

“No, of course not. Sit back down. We need to set ground rules.” Five holds up a hand. “The phrasing has to be right, no more or less than necessary. He’ll need a babysitter-”

“I’m not a baby!”

“- in case something happens. We’ll take turns. We need to set limits, on both of you. This is better than whatever shit you were using before, but that doesn’t make it not addictive.” 

Klaus catches Diego’s eye, who fails at hiding a smirk. 

“Anything else?” Klaus asks anyway, because he’s a glutton for punishment, apparently. 

Five narrows his eyes at him. “I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” he says sarcastically. “Go and have something to eat. You have to go into it balanced.” 

Klaus learned a long time ago that it’s not worth arguing semantics once it seems that something is going your way, so he holds up his hands in surrender and dances around the loose groupings of spirits to get to the kitchen and shovel some cereal into his mouth. Part of him is grateful to Five, really. He doesn’t want to think, and Five is already making sure he doesn’t have to, not more than necessary. 

****

_Why are you trying to block us out, Klaus?_

_We just want to talk to you, Klaus._

_Why don’t you listen to us?_

_Look at me! Look at us!_

_Klaus!_

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, get out of the _way_ ,” Klaus hisses at the woman in the kitchen doorway. She’s built like a tank, bigger than him by a mile, and one of her arms is connected to the rest of her by the tiniest thread of skin. 

_You don’t want to listen to us._

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s because none of you have any concept of personal space,” he spits back, bracing himself before he stumbles through her. He can taste iron. It’s gross. 

_Don’t ignore us, Klaus._

“Leave me alone.” 

_We don’t want you to leave us._

“God, clingy much? I’m not really a big ‘commitment’ person, you’re shit out of luck.” 

_Don’t do it._

_Don’t do it, Klaus. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Klaus._

Klaus bursts back through the door to the living room with his heart in his throat, and slams the door closed behind him. Not that it does fuck all, but it feels good. Symbolic. 

All of his siblings look up at him with concerned faces from their huddle on the sofas. 

“My fan club,” Klaus explains with a wave. “Don’t let us interrupt.” 

“It’s that bad?” Diego asks. 

Klaus folds himself into the armchair and sticks his tongue out at the door, through which a few of the spirits have started to push in. “They love me,” he says, “who can blame them, really?”

“I wish you’d mention it before the moment of last resort,” Five sighs, jotting something down on the notepad he has in front of him and then handing it to Allison. 

“You turned up a week before the apocalypse,” Klaus points out, waving a finger up and down the length of Five’s pre-pubescent body. “Timing is a tricky subject for you, tater tot.”

Luther laughs, and Klaus grins back at him, pleased. “What? He’s right,” he says. 

Allison coughs, and they all turn to look at her. “Are you sure you want this, Klaus?” she asks. 

In the background, the ghosts start up their protests again, and he flinches. 

_No!_

_You don’t!_

_Stay with us, Klaus. Listen to us!_

“I’m sure,” he promises, drawing a shaky cross over his chest. 

“Okay then,” Five rubs his hands together. “I think we’re about ready here. Diego’s got first watch.” 

“Have you pissed this time?” Diego asks. Klaus sticks out his tongue at him. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to piss,” he argues. “I normally manage that without any help.”

“What do you mean, ‘this time’?” Vanya asks. 

“Don’t worry about it,” they reply as one. 

Klaus moves to sit in front of Allison, on a cushion on the floor where he can fold his legs. She waits for him to smile at her before she consults the pad of paper. 

It shouldn’t be this easy, Klaus thinks mildly, to get what he wants. It never used to be. 

A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Ben’s says, _you never asked, before._

Allison opens her mouth, and the whole room seems to hold its breath. Everyone leans in to watch, and the click of Klaus' throat is loud in the silence. 

“I heard a rumour,” Allison says, “that you couldn’t communicate with the dead.” 

The effect is immediate. Klaus shudders as the words work their way into his brain - and clever, _clever_ Five, because he’s seen the monkey’s paw just waiting to happen, stopped them taking away Klaus’ ability to _speak_ to them but not to _hear_ or _see_. This way is the triple-whammy, and it’s double-sided, bitches. 

Around them, the spirits faze out almost mechanically. One moment there, the next only half, then the last couple remain, then none. 

Klaus can feel himself fighting against the order already. He can feel his ability like a trapped bird in his ribcage, casting about for something to latch onto, throwing itself at the bars. _Stay there_ , he begs, _just for a little while. Please._

“Klaus?” That’s Allison’s voice. He looks up at her, and offers a shaky smile. “Did it work?”

“Silent as the grave,” he confirms, then laughs. 

“How does it feel?” Five asks. 

How does it feel? It feels terrible, and wonderful. It feels like Klaus is missing a limb or on the weirdest high of his life. “Not as relaxing as I’d hoped,” he admits, pushing a hand against the middle of his chest, over the sequined lipstick. “It wants out.” 

“I thought that might happen,” Five nods. “Allison?”

She looks down at the paper again, and this time she doesn’t pause before she says. “I heard a rumour you felt peaceful.” 

Peaceful, peaceful. The word slips into his ear like silk, wraps around his brain with the lightest touch, soothing everything as it goes. Then down, down to his chest, where his heart stops hammering so fast, and the flutter of his trapped ability calms down to a mere twitch. His shoulders drop, his eyelids sag. 

He could keel over, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about the way he’s sitting. He feels in harmony with the world. Like he’s taken the biggest hit from the biggest joint, direct from bud to brain. 

“Shit, that’s some potent stuff you’re packing,” Diego comments from somewhere up above. Klaus doesn’t bother to raise his head, he doesn’t need to. He’s perfectly content where he is, exactly like this. He feels at peace.

“The last one now. For safety,” Five says. 

“Klaus,” Allison calls. Her voice is beautiful, like honey. His veins feel like honey. “I heard a rumour, you let us look after you.” 

The last order slips in quietly, huddled in under the overwhelming cloak of calm, and Klaus hums as he feels it click into place, blinking slow. 

He can hear his siblings speaking above him. 

Vanya. “It worked?”

Luther. “I’d say so, look at him.” 

Allison. “It worked.” 

Five. “Great. Diego, you take it from here. Ring the bell if you need us or something goes wrong.” 

There’s the _pop_ sound of him leaving, and then faint footsteps as his siblings file out. Someone rubs a hand through his hair as they leave. It’s nice. 

“Okay, we’ve at least gotta get you on the couch,” Diego says after a moment. “You look like a wilting plant down there.”

Klaus doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He feels great. If this is what wilting plants feel, then sign him up. He’ll be a plant. He’ll be a dandelion, a weed, a blade of grass in a field, swaying with his fellow blades… 

“Give me your hands,” Diego orders. Klaus does, and though he sways a little on his feet when Diego gets him upright, it’s not too bad. Plus, once he’s on his feet Diego wastes little time before maneuvering him onto one of the couches and setting him down there, spread out horizontally amongst all the cushions. 

“Good job. Better?” He asks. 

Is there such a thing as better anymore? Klaus isn’t sure. Everything is already _right_ , quiet and perfect and calm. 

But they want to look after him, they’d said so, and the praise does make him feel warm and melted. So he nods. “Better.” 

“Good.” Diego sits on the floor and leans back against the couch, his head against Klaus’ shoulder. “How does it feel, not seeing them?”

“Feels like… not throwing something,” Klaus replies, slow. “Or… not spatial jumping, I guess. Not rumour-ing. Just being.” 

He’s never thought about it in those terms before. He talks about how he hates that he can’t turn it off, but it’s never felt as simple as pointing out how the others get to make the choice to be _on_. 

Except Luther, maybe. Luther’s always on, too. 

“Did it used to be this bad?” Diego asks. “Before, I mean. When we were kids.” 

Klaus breathes out, slow. Thinking of the memories now doesn’t upset him, they feel distant, somehow. Like they happened to someone else. “I don’t think I’ve been consistently sober since I was thirteen,” he muses. “I don’t remember.” 

A pause. “Must have been bad,” Diego replies. 

Klaus thinks about shrugging, but he’s so perfectly comfortable where he is, he doesn’t move. 

“I-If you want to talk to me now, instead of Ben, that’s o-okay,” Diego says. He doesn’t look at Klaus while he says it, instead focusing on the far wall in front of them both, but that doesn’t matter. 

In his blissed-out state, Klaus leans over and presses one palm to the top of Diego’s head - the _hello_ hand. “Thank you,” he says. 

Diego nods. He looks tense, like the offer has taken a lot out of him, but he doesn’t bail early. He doesn’t shrug out from under Klaus’ hand either. 

After a long moment, Diego starts talking in a low voice, recounting stories from when they were young for Klaus to listen to. He doesn’t jump in like he usually might, just leans back into the cushions and lets the soothing voice wash over him, the rose-tinted memories hovering between them like ghosts. 

“Hey Klaus.” That’s Vanya’s voice, and when he looks up she’s standing in the doorway with Allison, both of them holding makeup pouches. Diego slips out between them with a nod and a squeeze of Klaus’ hand. 

“We thought it might be fun to paint your nails,” Vanya says. “Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, offering out his hands. The polish on them is chipped and uneven, black on top of an old blue he never bothered to take off. Allison sits by his feet and Vanya finds a spot between Klaus’ back and the cushions big enough for her to squeeze into. They share the acetone between them, dabbing at his nails and chatting quietly. 

He fazes in and out, smiling dopily at them both. 

“Which colour?” Allison asks him at one point, holding up two shades. One is fuschia, one a bright green. 

“Green,” Klaus decides, thinking about grass again. 

“I like that one better too,” Vanya admits, frowning as she concentrates on not smudging the purple she’s applying to his hands. 

“This is nice,” Klaus says, blinking up at the ceiling. “I used to have to steal your products.” 

“I remember. You wore down all of my eyeliners and never bought replacements,” Allison replies, without heat. 

Vanya holds one of his hands up by her mouth and blows a steady breath over the wet polish. “I never learned how to do eyeliner.” 

“I’ll teach you,” Klaus offers. 

“Klaus can teach you the grunge look, I’ll teach you the cat-eye,” Allison adds, patting Klaus’ ankle as she sets the second foot back down. He cranes his head down and wiggles his newly green toes with a smile. 

“It looks good,” Vanya says. 

It does. 

Five’s up next. He appears in the room in the space between blinks and wrinkles his nose at the smell, throws open a window to get some fresh air inside. 

He’s brought a glass of water with him, and a straw, and he encourages Klaus to finish the whole thing. It’s the kind of micromanagement Klaus would normally find insulting, but right now nothing can shatter his aura. So he drinks the water, and it feels good to wet his throat, and also to make Five nod, apparently satisfied.

Five gets him to lift his head so that he can sit beneath him, and he rests a hand in Klaus’ hair when he lays back down - head on his bony little lap. He’s brought a book, some kind of science manual judging by the images on the front, and he spends the rest of his shift reading quietly. He holds the book in one hand, and with the other he untangles some of the knots in Klaus’ hair, dragging his nails over his scalp, petting him distractedly. 

It’s soothing. 

By the time Luther comes to take his turn, Klaus can feel that the rumours are losing their edge. It’s like the comedown of a high but with none of the hangover. He’s more aware of his body. His foot itches, which it definitely wasn’t doing when he was experiencing nirvana earlier. 

He pushes himself into an upright position on the couch, because it’s cruel and also possibly impossible to make Luther cram himself into a space smaller than his usual two-thirds. When he sits down the couch creaks ominously, but stays in one piece. 

“You seem calmer,” Luther says, then winces at his own phrasing. “I mean- happier. Happy.” 

Klaus takes pity on him. “I feel calmer.” 

Somewhere outside the Academy the twinkling sound of an ice cream van plays. The curtains drift in the wind. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be so quiet,” Luther says. 

“That time I broke my jaw,” Klaus reminds him, tracing a nail along the bone in question, where the wires had been. 

“That wasn’t your choice, though,” Luther points out. “And it made training weird.” 

Klaus huffs a laugh. “I think it made us more effective.” Luther looks over at him, stricken, and Klaus raises his eyebrows, a silent challenge. 

Luther rolls his eyes, but he can’t exactly disagree. “I prefer it when you’re there with us, all the same,” he says. “We’re better when you’re with us.” 

That’s a surprise. Klaus is momentarily speechless for different reasons. Maybe all those self-help books Luther has been hoarding are actually helping him? 

Klaus can’t remember the last time dear old Number One told him that he was glad Klaus was on a mission. 

It tugs something in his chest again, and he rubs at the spot absently. Klaus doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him, never has. He doesn’t care that Dad thought he was useless, or the Commission pegs him as the weak link. He doesn’t care if he’s just junkie scum in the eyes of the public. 

It’s still nice, though, to hear Luther say otherwise. To feel like he might, actually, have a place here where he can be useful. He tucks his smile against his hand and watches Luther awkwardly cast around for something to play on the radio system. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since they started this whole thing - a few hours, at least - when he feels the last of the rumour’s influence snap away from his body. He surges forwards slightly as the rush of normality comes back full force, breathing in deeply between gritted teeth. 

“You okay?” Luther asks immediately, one of his hands resting gently on Klaus’ back. 

“All good,” Klaus nods. “Just ran out of Allison juice.” 

Luther, bless his giant, monkey heart, actually glances around the room. “Are the spirits back?” he whispers. 

“Give them a few moments,” Klaus replies, waving a hand. He feels sober as a saint again, but there’s none of the panicked twitchiness from before. He isn’t overwhelmed, but neither is he worried that his ability won’t come back. Klaus can feel it again already, filling the cavity in his chest with its fluttering. 

On cue, his stomach rumbles. 

Luther checks his watch, because no amount of self-help reading is going to strip him of his anal inner schedule. “Food should be ready soon,” he says, “I left the others finishing up in there. Shall we go?”

Klaus nods. His legs, when he stands, are solid. His back cracks when he stretches out his arms. “I’ll follow you. I do need to piss first, though. Don’t tell Diego.” 

“Why would I- You know what, don’t tell me. I’ll go let them know you’ll be down in a minute.” 

Klaus smiles over his shoulder as he spins on his heel and heads for the bathroom. He hangs back a little, though, waiting for Luther to disappear down the stairs. As soon as Luther’s out of earshot he turns to the nearest spirit and says, “Boo.” 

_You came back._

_He came back!_

_Klaus. Klaus, you can see us?_

_You can hear us again?_

“Yeah I came back. Idiots,” Klaus replies, sounding more fond than annoyed for once. With his body so pliant and relaxed, and his brain so sweetly calm, they seem more like bleeding, lost children than terrifying mirages. “We’ll do this… communing thing tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow.” 

_Tomorrow?_

“Tomorrow,” he confirms. “Now shoo.” 

For now, he’s going to piss, and then he’s going to spend the evening with his family, eating whatever hopefully-edible thing they’ve managed to cook up together. 

He pushes his hand over his chest as he closes the doors behind him, purple nails against his warm heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I <3 ghosts


End file.
